Two Simple Sentences
by I Dont Know What Im Doing
Summary: A chilly flat, a bit of jam and two simple sentences was all it took for John and Sherlock to get into quite a lot of mischief. Future Chapters will include possible kink, lots of jam, very bad boys in public, and a whole mess of other things. And more jam! Rated M for smut. JohnLock, Established relationship, romance/humor.
1. Chapter One

**This is a new, somewhat planned out, kind of long story. Hoping to included all sorts of trouble Sherlock and John get into when those two simple sentences are spoken.  
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**Warning for lots of smut in future chapters.  
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**Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading. Feedback/reviews/critiques are greatly appreciated.**

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One terribly cold flat, one drop of jam and two very short but foolish sentences was all it took. At least that's what John put the blame on for the mischief that soon followed that chilly morning.

Those four things, when combined together, caused a chain reaction of trouble which included being permanently banned from two local restaurants, a very grumpy Mrs. Hudson, a broken kitchen table, the need for Sherlock to purchase a new scarf, an empty jar of jam and later a terribly upset stomach, Sherlock finally getting embarrassed in public, and both of them getting arrested.

And the promise to never utter those words again, at least until the kitchen table was repaired and their record cleared.

* * *

John really didn't want to get out of bed even though his stomach wouldn't stop grumbling.

Not wanting to leave the comfort of the bed was partly due to the bedroom being unexpectedly chilly. But mostly it was because, under a mountain of blankets, Sherlock's toasty 'not wearing anything but his silk pants' body lying up against him felt too damn good for John to want to get up.

There was the option of darting out of the room to turn the heat up but doing that would eventually cause Sherlock to put on more clothing. Keeping Sherlock mostly bare in bed was a much higher priority to him than warming up the flat regardless of how hungry he was.

John decided that suffering a bit of cold to grab a quick breakfast and eating in bed was a better option.

Slowly worming his way out of Sherlock's embrace without waking him, John slid out of bed and has immediately assaulted with how cold the room was. Grabbing one of the extra blankets to wrap around himself, he shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast.

He started to make food for the both of them but remembered it was only Tuesday, Sherlock wouldn't bother with breakfast until at least Friday, so instead he just made himself some toast with jam. While waiting for the coffee to brew, spreading raspberry jam on his toast and thinking of his just silk pants wearing lover waiting in bed, an amusing thought struck him.

Once breakfast was prepared, John clumsily returned to the bedroom trying to keep the blanket around him with a mug of coffee in each hand and a piece of toast with jam hanging from of his mouth. The little tease he had planned almost didn't happen when he entered the room. John was positive he would never tire of Sherlock's ability to cause him so many frequent jaw-dropping moments even if it almost made him drop the piece of toast from his mouth.

Sherlock had woken up while he was out of the room and was now sitting crossed legged on the bed, wrapped loosely in the heavy duvet. His eyes only half-open still coming out of sleep. Dark hair perfectly disheveled and the blanket open just enough to give a view of that exquisite chest and a hint of one delightful, pale thigh. Add in a sweet, tired smile and John still couldn't wrap his head around how Sherlock could look so innocently adorable and sexy as fuck at the same time.

John stood in the doorway taking it all in until he noticed the toast precariously dangling from his lip. He stumbled forward and passed over a coffee to Sherlock, giving him a free hand to catch his meal before it fell to the floor.

"Morning." Sherlock's voice was just as sleepy as his smile.

So transfixed John didn't reply or move, he just stood there grinning back at this sublime creature.

"Get back in bed. You're freezing."

That snapped him back, feeling the cold again in the room.

He placed his own mug on the night table and climbed back into bed. Sherlock covered him up with the extra parts of the duvet and John was thankful he had nixed idea of his lovely partner putting on any additional clothing as he now had a perfect view of his mostly bare body.

Leaning back against the headboard he nibbled at his toast while Sherlock sipped at his hot coffee. The morning might have gone on just like that, a quiet breakfast in bed, Sherlock silently watching him eat and John loving ever second of the attention, if not for a small bit of jam.

A bit of jam that just happened to completely, absolutely, without a doubt, accidentally drip off John's toast and drop on to his chest.

That well-placed…um accidental drop of jam was all it took for an immediate change to come over Sherlock. He froze mid-sip, the coffee mug unmoving right below his lips, those tired eyes grew wide. That sleepy grin disappeared as Sherlock licked his lips in anticipation of the treat that now presented itself.

Sherlock had gone from sleepy, adorable and sexy as hell to looking like a vampire who hadn't fed in years spotting a fresh pulsing vein. With John looking back at him as his perfectly willing victim.

In a blur of movement, Sherlock almost spilled his coffee trying to place it table behind him and John barely had time to put his half eaten toast next to his forgotten coffee before Sherlock fell on to him, lapping up the bit of jam off his chest with one very wet, long lick.

What happened next was not entirely what John had intended by that completely _accidental_ spill of jam. It was only supposed to be a minor tease about a particular fondness of Sherlock's. It wasn't supposed turn into a ten minute heated debate between two supposedly intelligent adults consisting mainly of 'yes you do' and 'no I don't'.

A debate that would only end when those two not well thought-out sentences were uttered in the heat of the moment. Heat of the moment having little to do with the content of their debate and more to do with them both being mostly naked in bed, trying to out-distract each other.

And that's all it took to start the oncoming mischief. A chilly flat, a bit of jam and two sentences spoken by two remarkably stubborn lovers. _"_I bet I can_"_ and _"_I bet you can't_"._


	2. Chapter Two

A genius detective and a well-educated medical doctor. One might imagine that when together the two would engage in lengthy multi-syllabled, intellectually stimulating conversations on a wide range of topics.

However since they both were also exceptionally stubborn and tended to behave extremely childish when they didn't get their way, most of their discussions devolved rather quickly, rarely showed any signs of their intelligence and seldom included a word that had more than two syllables.

Their current argument was no exception.

And being that they were both still wearing just their pants in bed, their completely pointless but utterly vital debate also became a stubborn test of wills and wanton displays of distractions.

Once it became clear that John wasn't going to drop the issue, Sherlock had stopped playing fair in his attempts to sidetrack him. In typical unfair fashion, his mostly bare 'just wearing those wonderful silk pants' partner had climb atop him to straddled his waist. Of course this just made John all the more determined to not let it drop until his headstrong partner just god damn admitted it.

So their test of wills took the form of copious amounts of grinding, biting, nail scratching and plenty of moaning between almost mindless banter on a rather meaningless topic.

.. ..

For the umpteen time John asserted, "Yes, you do,"

And again Sherlock retorted, "No, I don't." This time adding in a swivel of his hips, pushing his pelvis into John's erection.

John faltered for just a moment then pressed on between raspy breaths. "It's true…and you know it."

Sherlock pulled out another of his tricks by leaning down and with catlike grace slid his smooth skin up John's chest, purring into his neck, "Mmm… no it's not."

It took him a little longer to catch his breath as Sherlock writhed on top of him. "Oh…god…"

In retaliating he dug his nails deep into Sherlock's pointed hips and thrust up hard, rubbing their erections together. The velvety material of Sherlock's pants making it all the more stimulating. "Just admit…it."

Sherlock groaned deeply against his neck. "N..nothing to admit."

John's brief upper hand was quickly lost however. In his most unfair move yet, Sherlock sat back up again. Leaning far back, supporting himself with his hands pressed into the bed behind him, he arched his body, giving a tantalizing view of his long pale chest, the muscles pulled tight. And the icing on the cake of unfair, he closed his eyes, threw his head back, and rocked his groin slowly into him, moaning loudly. "Oh…John."

Bloody hell there was no way to win against that. John dug his nails harder into those glorious hips, meeting his thrusts, "Fuck…oh my..god…" and was about ready to concede. Sherlock was way more skilled at this game than him.

But his gloating mate couldn't help himself. He tilted his head back down; unable to hide a pleased smile, thinking he had finally won the battle. And that smug look was all John needed to get back into the fight.

Sliding his hands up to Sherlock's shoulders, John forcibly pulled him back down. Giving some unfair back, he raked his nails with expect precision across Sherlock's back, knowing just the right amount of pressure to incite him. "You know I'm right."

Sherlock pressed his head against his neck and sucked in a deep breath, moaning as he released it. He didn't reply for a few seconds, panting and trying to slow his breathing but eventually murmured, "Y..you're completely…wrong."

John started to dig his fingernails into Sherlock's back again while he spoke. "You're just being stubborn."

But it wasn't going to work a second time as Sherlock was too quick for him. Snatching both his arms, he pulled them off his back and gripped John's wrists tight. Before John could try to wrestle his hands free Sherlock pinned them above his head.

Giving him a wicked grin while rocking his hips. "Wrong again. I'm never stubborn."

"Oh...god...Sherlock…just admit it already."

"Nope."

Kissing down his neck, down lower and lower until his lips lightly grazing across John's nipple. Add in Sherlock slowly rubbing his erection against his own and his wrists still pinned above him, John had very little resistance left. "Sherlock…oh..fuck."

Possibly getting too involved into his game of distraction, seeming to forget the point of their discussion, Sherlock licked at his nipple and John's focus returned like the crack of a whip.

"Ha! You just did it again!"

Sherlock growled against his chest.

He couldn't help giggling at his frustrated partner. "Just admit you love licking me."

Refusing to meet his eyes, Sherlock murmuring against his chest. "Never," then he bit John's nipple sharply.

"Oh...Fuck….god...just bloody admit it already."

Another bite. "No."

"Ow….Stop being an arse and just say you love it. You love licking me."

Sherlock still wouldn't look up and John giggled some more. Oh how he hated it when John proved him wrong. "Love it so much you can't not do it, even when you're saying you don't."

He growling again. "You keep this up and I'll never do it again."

"You couldn't if you tried."

Sherlock rolled off him to lie against his side, sliding a leg up his thigh and snaked a hand down to John's pants. Finally looking up he was grinning. "Oh trust me I could."

This was starting to get into alarming wicked tactics as fingers inched lower below his pants, getting ever so close to his cock. John arched back into the bed; those long, skillful fingers were so teasingly close. "Y..you couldn't and you know it."

Sherlock rutting his own very hard erection into John's leg and moved his hand just a tad lower. "Mmm….I could go long enough to make you beg for it."

John upped his own game and ran a hand under Sherlock's pants, moving down further and further, his own fingers now teasing closer and closer between his arse. The other getting a tight grasp of Sherlock's dark locks. "Not a chance."

And with ragged breathing, teasing and touching oh so close to those eager spots, both working the other to their limits of being able to hold back, Sherlock spoke the first of those not well thought-out sentences between groans as John's fingers slipped between his arse, grazing lightly across his entrance.

"I bet I can."

And when Sherlock's fingers ran across the tip of his aching cock, John moaned back the second of them.

"I bet you can't."

For two exceptionally stubborn, more often than not dim-witted, and rather juvenile when it came to being right lover's, those words were nothing but trouble.

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**Sorry for the delay on the next chapter. My computer broke and just got it running again. Finishing up the chapter now.**

**As always, I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading. Feedback/reviews/critiques are greatly appreciated.**


	3. Chapter Three

**Finally getting to the smut, so be warned. It's full on smutty.**

**I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter. My computer died and nothing recent had been backed up. Had to spend a few days getting my computer up and running before I could continue working on this chapter.**

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Under normal circumstances John might have thought twice about saying the words 'I bet you can't' to Sherlock. But right at the moment he was only able to focus on Sherlock's splendid body rutting up against him, those skillful fingers playfully teasing his cock and the fact that his willful partner absolutely hated being proven wrong.

No matter how ridiculous this bet might be, if Sherlock lost, holy hell John knew he would never be able to let it go at just that. And the thought of what he might do for retribution was all the motivation John needed to not think twice about saying those words and to instead focus the rest of his few remaining thoughts on winning.

Not that it would be difficult, this simple bet of whether or not Sherlock could refrain from using his tongue should be a piece of cake. His little tease hadn't merely been having a laugh at his jam lapping partner. Not only was John convinced that Sherlock loved to lick him, but he was sure he had become somewhat obsessed with it. He didn't know if it was the act itself or John's reactions that fascinated Sherlock but the man just couldn't seem to help himself. That small bit of jam dropping on his chest and Sherlock ravenously licking it off was testament to that. The bet should be quite easy; John knew he could outlast Sherlock.

Seeing the wicked smile Sherlock was now giving him and hint of fire in his eyes at the idea of a challenge, that settled it. No thinking twice about the Pandora's Box they had just opened with those two simple sentences. John prepared for a whole new level of test of a wills between them.

Slipping his hand out from Sherlock's pants, John crossed his arms under his head, and gave Sherlock a little taunt. _Have at it._

Sherlock stopped teasing with his fingers; sliding his hand up to John's hip, digging his nails in and gave John's still slightly tender from that last bite nipple another sharp bite. His response was clear. _You're going to lose._

And with that their first bet was under way. Could Sherlock hold out from using that delightful tongue of his until John begged him to?

* * *

And immediately John was reminded of how much of an idiot he could be, as Sherlock quickly sat up and started to tug off John's pants. How could he have possibly have thought that this would be easy?

Soon as his pants were carelessly thrown to the floor, Sherlock nudged John's legs apart, moving his body between them. With the first light kiss on his inner thigh John's comfortably smug position didn't feel so smug anymore.

Soft hands ran up his legs spreading them further apart and Sherlock kissed the sensitive skin of his thigh higher. John swallowed hard, tilted his head back into his cradled arms and sighed at the feeling of his lover's warm breath on his skin.

Sherlock continued with gentle kisses working up between his legs, one fingernail scraped across his hipbone and John's mouth went dry. When Sherlock started adding in bites between the kisses, John couldn't keep his arms crossed under his head any longer, clutching at the sheet as the bites got sharper.

Slowly, drawing it out as slow as he could, Sherlock inched higher and higher with just teeth and lips and hands. Just as Sherlock's lips almost reached the base of his cock, there was a pause and John, the idiot that he is, lifted his head from the pillow to look down.

Sherlock's eyes closed and he was breathing deep around his tongue held between his teeth, as if having caught ahold of it before he licked up John's cock. Sherlock let out a little whine, causing John to let out a little moan, "Oh god."

At the sound of this Sherlock licked his upper lip and John noticed an almost imperceptible grin. Oh yes John is a complete idiot, this would be far from easy.

With the first soft kiss at the base of his cock, John's head dropped back into the pillow but he couldn't take his eyes off of Sherlock. It was just too salacious of a sight, Sherlock between his legs, eyes burning with lust, those succulent lips brushing against his flesh. His devious but perfect Sherlock knew just how to drive him crazy. As he placed a few more light kisses, Sherlock wrapped one hand around his cock and ran his bottom lip, just that lush, full lip up the length of his cock.

"Fuck… oh my god Sherlock."

Reaching the head of his cock, Sherlock's tongue flicked out and almost ran across the tip. John might have thought it was a tease but Sherlock biting down on his tongue hoping prevent himself from losing made it apparent that John wasn't the only one having a little difficulty.

After a moment to gather himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Sherlock went back to kissing, working back down. Yet again driving John wild, using just teeth Sherlock caught a bit of flesh at the base of his cock and pinched every so delicately. John's hands clawed into the bed. "Oh fuck..."

And then again, bloody hell he did it again, running his lower lip up the length while stroking him languidly. This time when Sherlock's mouth reached the top, he ran a finger across the tip and brought it to his lips, licking off the precum from his finger.

John moaning loudly watching Sherlock licked at his lips, tasting, savoring, with his eyes closed.

"Oh fuck…oh my god."

Sherlock sucked at his finger for a time, removed it and went back to placing light kisses on his cock but brought his now wet finger down between his arse, drawing it against him teasingly.

"Ahh god…Sherlock."

Sherlock was inciting him in all directions, stoking him slowly, kisses and bites all along his aching erection, that finger pushing gently against his arse. John was writhing, moaning and almost weeping, wanting Sherlock to take him into his mouth. And Sherlock of course knew this. Sherlock's mouth was hanging opening right above the tip of his cock, his tongue almost touching him. His pale eyes, dark and dilated, his breathing ragged.

"Beg for it."

"Oh god…"

Licking those sinful lips again. "Beg John."

No, no he wasn't going to give in this easy. He had seen Sherlock struggle, he knew he couldn't hold out forever, that look of craving in his eyes gave away that he was straining even now. But dear god this certainly wouldn't the easy win that he had imagined. Trying to catch his breath, John was only able to whisper, "no," before closing his eyes tight, digging fingernails into the sheets.

Sherlock growled at his determination and stepped up his efforts to work him into a frenzy. The finger at his arse massaged and probed, those glorious lips kissed and rubbed across his cock, teeth now and then nipping delicately, a frenzy he was worked to. But Sherlock was pausing more and more, either due to having more difficulty or was trying non-stop to get him to open his eyes.

John, though twisting and groaning, couldn't, he just couldn't look. It was the only way to stop himself from begging. Opening his eyes, oh yeah, that would be the end of it. He could picture that lustful expression, that tongue so teasingly close to licking him, he didn't dare let himself see the real thing.

He knew he had the upper hand when Sherlock whined and demanded at once, "John beg."

Breathlessly he answered back, "n..no."

And he almost lost that winning edge as Sherlock took him into his mouth, but just the head of his cock. Oh hell, just with his lips, no tongue, no licking, just those voracious lips.

"Fuck..fuck..oh my..god..Sherlock."

Releasing him, Sherlock slid his cheek down his erection, gripping him tighter, stroking faster. His finger pushed slowly into his arse. John called out again, his hands tearing at the sheets and Sherlock moaned, "John…"

Sliding his leg over John's, Sherlock began rutting his own very hard cock against his leg. "John…"

His needy tone was driving him wild, John didn't have to see to know how erotically wanton Sherlock would look.

"Fuck…"

Part moan, part whine, Sherlock was losing his composure. "Please John."

"Sherlock…oh fucking hell."

Sliding his cock back up against his cheek, Sherlock rutted against him faster and kissed this tip of his erection. John was struggling not to thrust his hips up, sobbing at the need for Sherlock to take him in. Sherlock's finger pushed deeper inside him, and worked in and out. John felt the heat pooling in his groin. Sherlock was bringing him to orgasm and if he held back, if he slowed and drew it out, oh god John would, he would beg, he knew it.

Sherlock took the head of his cock back into his mouth with just those damn beautiful lips again and John was so close to coming he cried out, "Fuck..fuck..fuck.." over and over just to stop the word _'please'_ from pouring out.

And just as he was about to come, Sherlock groaned with pleasure and took him fully into his mouth, that wonderful tongue finally making contact with his cock as he released. John buckled against the bed as he came, Sherlock's hand gripping the base of his cock tight, working him still with his mouth, thrusting harder into his leg, humming around his cock.

When his orgasm finally ended, his body still writhing, Sherlock released him and ran one long wet lick from the base to the tip of his cock. A shudder ran through him at the sensitivity of the feeling.

The euphoric sensations caused him to forget all about their bet, just relishing of the lingering waves of his release and the touch of that amazing tongue. Sherlock reminded rather quickly however when he sat up, slipped his pants off in a hurry and moved himself between John's legs.

Grinning one of those wicked grins, not showing the least bit of annoyance for losing he said, "New bet?"

Still breathing fast, mind still a bit foggy John stumbled trying to figure out what that meant, "W..what?'

Positioning himself against his arse, Sherlock leaned down close, murmuring into his ear. "Bet you can't go without saying 'fuck' while I fuck you."

John was yet again not thinking, just moaning at the touch of Sherlock cock pressing into his arse. "Ahh…fuck Sherlock."

"Mmm?"

"Ah…ahh….god...I…bet I can."

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**Next chapter hopefully won't take as long to update. Sorry again for the delay on this one.**

******As always, I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading. Feedback/reviews/critiques are greatly appreciated.**


	4. Chapter Four

With a light kick to his shin, John broke Sherlock's intense concentration on whatever he was pretending to find so interesting about their broken toaster oven. Shifting his gaze from the dusty pile of parts under the window, Sherlock grumbling under his breath and gave John a scowl for interrupting his attempt to block out the voice currently berating them.

John scowled right back him. Sitting at the kitchen table like a pair of schoolboys getting reprimanded for misbehaving was humiliating enough. Sherlock sitting quietly beside him, letting him take the fall only added to John's annoyance and embarrassment. Oddly the idea that he and Sherlock were being reprimanded by their landlady because of their willful determination to win a pointless bet didn't register as important enough to be concerned with. Instead they both scowled at each other like the complete twits they were.

The only one not scowling was Mrs. Hudson but only because she was too preoccupied with pacing their kitchen and chiding them like an angry schoolmarm. "...it's very inconsiderate for you two…"

Switching from a scowl, John tried pleading silently at Sherlock, trying to get him to say something to her, hoping he could end their scolding since John's apologies to Mrs. Hudson hadn't worked. Taking the hint, Sherlock rolled his eyes and addressed their not very pleased landlady, in exactly not the way John hoped he would.

"Yes Mrs. Hudson, your objections were made perfectly clear the first five times you said them. Repeating yourself doesn't give them any more significance."

_Oh for the love of_…John eyes went wide as he stared at the bastard then he looked apologetically at Mrs. Hudson. She had stopped pacing to finally take her own turn at scowling. "Well since this isn't the first time this has happened Sherlock, it bears repeating doesn't it?"

And so it continued…"Now don't get me wrong, it's perfectly natural for you boys to have a bit of fun but really…"

As shades of red reappeared on John's face, he kicked Sherlock's leg under the kitchen table a little harder and pleaded for his help a little more desperately. And still not helping, Sherlock answered his plea with, "Stop kicking me."

Mrs. Hudson paused in her rant to chastise them both for not paying her mind and then on it went. "...if you can't keep quiet there _is_ an upstairs room…"

Now it was Sherlock's turn to kick him under the table, adding in a smug grin. "She means you."

John buried his face in his hands, mumbling, "Oh my god."

"…if the two of you must carry on like that…"

John tried to hide his blushing face even more, really not wanting to hear this part of Mrs. Hudson's rant again. Grumbling into his hands John made one last attempt to get Sherlock to help. "Please just say you're sorry or something Sherlock."

And Mr. Not Helping At All did say something, something far too loud and not at all to Mrs. Hudson. "Why should I apologize? You're the one that was hollering like a banshee, not me."

_Oh my god._ John went from hoping Sherlock would help to hoping the floor would swallow him up.

* * *

About thirty minutes earlier the last thing on John's mind was the possibility of disturbing Mrs. Hudson in the flat below. He was a bit too preoccupied trying _not_ to holler like a banshee and behaving every bit as an immature schoolboy trying to win their second absurd bet. Closing his mouth tight, repeated to himself over and over, _'I'm not going to lose, I'm not going to lose.'_

His mantra was interrupted as Sherlock slowly withdrew from his arse and whispered into his ear with that perfect sultry voice, "You're going to lose." Adding in a sharp bite to his earlobe, John was unable to prevent his mouth from falling open and groaning, "Oh...god," before he could snap it shut. John tried to focus again, biting down hard on his lip. _Not gonna lose._

Slowly, oh so slowly, Sherlock slid his cock back deep inside him. Angling his body up from between John's legs, he closed his eyes and with a heavy sigh, swiveled his hips. "Ohhh yes…John."

"Oh f…" Biting his lip hadn't been much help at all. His only saving grace was clamping a hand over his mouth. John whimpered behind his sealed lips. His other hand gripped one of the bars on the headboard tight as Sherlock swaying his pelvis against him.

His beautiful bastard of a lover gave him a wicked smile between his ragged breathing. "Now, now...none of that." Still deep inside him, with his hips still swaying to some unheard music, Sherlock moved a hand to John's wrist before he could react. Latching on tight, Sherlock pulled his hand away and pressing it into the bed. Snapping his hips, Sherlock closed his eyes and purred, "Mmm that's better."

"Oh..my god..." John went back to biting down hard on his lip. _Not gonna lose…_

Sherlock kept his wrist pinned to the bed, his other hand snaked down his chest and _oh bloody hell_…at the same time as he thrust deep inside him, Sherlock pinched his nipple. "You're..going to..lose."

Bending back into the bed, John pulled fiercely at the headboard. _Oh god..oh god_

Sherlock fingers continued snaking down his chest, past his hip and he hooked an arm under one of his legs, hitching it up toward his chest. Able to tilt his body better, Sherlock slid his cock back out making sure to put pressure against his prostrate with an expert skill John would normally cry out in ecstasy over. Mewling between his swollen, bitten lips John arched back into the bed further. _Oh god...n..not not gonna lose. Not gonna..oh god_

Sherlock released the grip on his wrist and ran his hand across John's head, clutching a tuff of hair between his fingers. _Ohgod..ohgod..._John bit painfully on his lip. _oh god, notgonnalose..notgonnalose.._

Clutching a tuff of his hair, the tormentingly slow tease was over. Sherlock began thrusting into him hard, at the same time roughly pulling his head back with the grip in his hair. The pain was both savage and exquisite, coupled with Sherlock driving his cock deep inside him, John couldn't help from crying out. "Ahh…god…Sherlock…oh fu" but just in time he was able to slap his now freed hand back onto his mouth.

Sherlock quicken his pace, bucking faster into him, still propping John's one leg up with his arm, keening and moaning while his finger's pulling tighter in John's hair; John whimpered at the feel of his cock thrusting into him, the wicked combination of pleasure and pain from his scalp. John forgot the words to his chant and just tried to concentrate on keeping his mouth tightly closed, hoping Sherlock wouldn't pull his hand away again.

He didn't, keeping a tight clutch in his hair and that one arm still hooked under his leg, instead Sherlock began driving into him with abandon, groaning with animalist need, teeth biting up his collar bone, fingers in his hair still pulling tighter. John moaned around his fingers, pushing his pelvis up against Sherlock's cock with each thrust.

But when Sherlock licked up to his ear, John knew why he hadn't moved his hand away that second time. He had saved the best for last; John was definitely going to lose. As his thrusts became frantic, the fingers clutching his hair pulling down harder stretching John's neck back into his pillow, that sinful voice moaned into his ear, "John…god..feels so good…you feel so good…",

_Oh god oh god._ If he had been smarter he would have clamped a hand over Sherlock's mouth instead of his own.

And again, moaning between panting and thrusting, "...oh god...oh god I'm…gonna...come…"

Furiously pumping into him, Sherlock pulled himself up just enough so John could see that carnal, rapturous expression: his eyes fully dilated, a gloss of sweat across his brow, his provocative mouth fallen open around wanton moans with each thrust and then his whole body shuddering, "John...oh yes...I'm...coming…"

John forgot all about keeping his mouth closed, releasing his grip on the headboard and from his lips, he grabbed Sherlock's arse with both hands to push his cock deeper inside him as his lover came. And while Sherlock's body convulsed through his orgasm, he forgot not only what the point of their bet had been but that they had even made one.

John hollered out loud enough to wake the dead. "Sherlock oh fuck...oh fuck…Fuck!" while Sherlock continued to thrust deep as his orgasm released inside him. John writhed under him when Sherlock collapsed atop of his body.

It was only a moment later that he remembered their bet and that he had lost, when the very alerting sound of Mrs. Hudson complaining sharply at the bottom of the stairs pointed out that John had been bellowing '_Fuck'_ over and over. Apparently John's vociferous loss hadn't woken the dead but disturbed Mrs. Hudson's early afternoon tea with her sister, niece and her husband.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was on her sixth run through of scolding them, fine..fine, scolding John for cursing at the top of his lungs while she was hosting her afternoon tea. Not looking up, his face still red and hidden in his hands, he mumbling low enough so only Sherlock could hear him. "You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Mm..hmm."

John could just picture the smirk on his face. "You're such an arse."

"Mmm."

And since he never blames himself, John blamed his need for Mrs. Hudson to leave and not embarrass him any longer for what he said next.

"Just so you haven't forgotten Sherlock, you might have won but that just means we're tied."

There was silence from Sherlock while Mrs. Hudson continued on. Still not looking up John had to choke back a laugh as he pictured Sherlock's not very pleased expression. And at the sound of John struggling not to laugh he heard Sherlock's chair scrap across the floor.

He had to choke back the laugh even more when he heard Sherlock graciously apologizing, "Mrs. Hudson we're both very sorry for disturbing you and your company, it won't happen again."

"Well I should hope so."

Lifting his head he watched Sherlock guiding her out of the kitchen plying her with platitudes all the way down the stairs. Finally letting out his laugh when Sherlock bound back up the stairs giving him a treacherous grin. Oh yes, their game of bets was nowhere near finished now.


	5. Chapter Five

**Sorry this is so short and for the delay, too many things getting complicated at once. Next chapter should be up in the next day or so. It was going to be all one update but it was taking too long to edit and I wanted to get something posted in case more interruptions happen. **

**Also I wanted to say thank you so much for continuing to read and many many thanks for the reviews, it really means a lot. **

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Taking a breaking from his game of solitaire, John got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen to make himself dinner. Not too surprisingly, Sherlock didn't look up from the mess he was tinkering with at the table while he passed through. Pausing briefly, John leaned down and placed a light kiss to the back of his neck getting only a pleasant 'mmm' in response. Oh yeah, Sherlock was still keeping up the pretense of deep concentration.

Letting Sherlock carry on with his little game, John continued on to the fridge see what it might hold for a possible meal. After a minute of staring at nothing that seems appealing, his search for food was interrupted. Sherlock's illusion of being too overly preoccupied with re-taking apart their broken toaster oven to speak finally ended when he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Getting something to eat."

"Hmm."

He suspected Sherlock was up to something and as soon as he went back to debating on what to eat his suspicions were confirmed.

"Want to go out for dinner?"

John stopping perusing the mostly empty fridge to glance back at Sherlock. "What?"

Sherlock was still putting on his show, having turned away just enough in the chair so that his face was mostly hidden while using a screwdriver to remove the door on the toaster over. He was trying far too hard to appear as if he wasn't up to something devious by adding an annoyed sigh at having to repeat himself. "Let's go out for dinner."

It had been two days since John had taunted Sherlock about them being tied, two days of acting like he had forgotten all about it. But John knew by now that Sherlock would never be able to let that tease slide and his new-found interest in their long ago broken toaster oven, that had been lying in a heap for almost a year, was a very good sign he had been putting up appearances while plotting. This unexpected mention of dinner in the middle of an experiment was a neon blinking light of a sign that a plan had been formed.

Even if it was some game, the idea of going out for dinner sounded appealing as John scanned the contents of the fridge again; left over carry-out, left over Sheppard's pie or the unknown contents of a box labeled bio-hazard. His choices were staying in for an unappealing meal or going out and most likely having Sherlock try to embarrass the hell out of him yet again in public. The choice wasn't a difficult one to make; there really wasn't much left for Sherlock do to that would embarrass him that he hadn't already done before.

But he wasn't about to let Sherlock think he was so easily fooled by this overdone performance from the past two day. John closed the fridge, leaned against it and crossed his arms. "Why do you want to go out?"

Sherlock hadn't stopped laboring at his current task, working one more screw off the door, persisting in this masquerade. "Because I'm also hungry."

With a chuckle John answered back, "No you're not."

"I'm not?"

"No. You're not. It's only Thursday."

A hint of a smile started to show at the corner of Sherlock's lips but quickly disappeared. He put down his screwdriver and sighed, trying to sound annoyed. "Well I could use a break."

But that small crack of a smile was just enough to show John that his scheming detective appreciated that he hadn't been so easily misled and there was indeed something brewing in that cunning brain. He would never get it out of him, and John was now far too curious as to what he had come up with to ruin his game.

However, before agreeing to dinner out, he was going to have a little fun of his own first, so he pushed on. "If you need a break I'll just heat something up and we can watch some telly."

In an attempt to hide any further breaks in his façade of annoyance Sherlock turned his face away even more, feigning interest in small bracket laying on the table to his right. "I'd like to get out of the flat for a while. Is that a problem?"

"Just want to get out for a bit?"

"Yes."

"Why don't I believe you."

"Really John, you're being ridiculous."

And since Sherlock still hadn't turned around, John purposely made the unmistakable sound of choking back laughter, getting Sherlock to the state John had been hoping for. "Am I now?"

Sherlock was now in that perfect frame of mind, a perfect combination of enjoying John's pestering too much and trying to keep up his performance, a combination that tended to cause the genius to not be much of a genius. With a theatrical huff Sherlock got up and walked out of the kitchen into the sitting room. "Well I'm going out for dinner, if you want to stop being ridiculous you can join me."

He could picture Sherlock all smug getting his coat, waiting for him to follow. Oh hell, he was going to pay for this but it was too good to pass up. Still leaning against the fridge he called out, "Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Are you putting on your coat?"

"Yes, I did say I was going out didn't I?"

"You do know you're still in your pajamas right?"

There was a short silence, and then loudly Sherlock swore, "Oh for god's sake."

Sherlock stomped back through the kitchen, growling when John burst out laughing. Just before slamming bedroom door closed for added emphasis, he hollered, "Not another word, and get us a damn cab while I change."

After another wave of laughter, John wiped a tear from his eye and went to get his coat. Whatever embarrassing stunt Sherlock had planned would at least be worth it now. And after he learned what Sherlock had devised to break their tie, John was not only glad he had gotten a chance to harass his wicked partner but also exceptionally grateful that Sherlock had picked a restaurant for them to dine at that they really didn't care for all that much, as they were never allowed to return there again.


	6. Chapter Six

To say that dinner didn't go as expected would be an understatement. Not that John had expected anything close to a normal night out with Sherlock but what he had been expecting wasn't anywhere close to what happened.

John picked at his risotto primavera with his fork while Sherlock continued to ply him with pointless small talk. "So how's your sister liking her new job?"

The question barely registered as John wondered for the tenth time if he should have just heated up the contents of whatever was in that box labeled bio-hazard in their fridge and had that for dinner. At least then his nerves wouldn't be so rattled. Waiting for the inevitable, waiting for Sherlock to embarrassing the hell out of him, was bad enough. Having all that he had come to expect from Sherlock be tossed aside, that was driving him nuts.

"John?"

"Huh?"

"Your sister?"

"What about her?"

Okay, maybe not everything had changed. Sitting there with his chin resting on his hands, grinning that same gloating grin since they sat down, Sherlock was flaunting his enjoyment of John trying to figure him out and wasn't making any attempt to disguise his amusement.

"I was asking about her new job."

"Oh hell Sherlock, you don't care one bit about her new job."

That pleased with himself grin stayed perfectly in place. "Of course I don't, but there's no need to be rude about it."

There was also no need in trying to act annoyed at Sherlock's complete admission that he didn't give one damn about his sister's new job. Being able to read him like a book, he was clearly able to see John was enjoying this every bit as much as he was. Being the center of Sherlock's attention was one of the things he loved most and more often than not it led to some intensely steamy outcomes. No matter how nervous or embarrassed he became, it was always worth it.

Shaking his head, John cracked a mocking grin back at him. "You're such a bastard."

"Clearly."

"Hell, just get on with it already."

"Mmm?"

"We both know why we're here, there's no need to keep dragging this out."

"Mmm."

"Stop that."

That bloody grin never faltered. "Hmm."

"Seriously, grow up."

"Your dinner's getting cold."

It was pointless to keep pushing so John stabbed at his risotto, taking another bite and making a grand show of going along with his game. Every attempt he had made previously to push this along resulted in the same, Sherlock wasn't going to budge.

After he had finished another bite of his meal, Sherlock repeated the question about his sister. Throwing him a dirty look first, John continued playing his part in Sherlock's ruse, all the while still trying to determine what he was up to. Sherlock rarely ever made it so obvious when he was toying with him. All this pointless small talk was just one more unexpected change in his behavior.

The first sign that something was off was their cab ride to the restaurant. There had been a complete lack of the usual distractions. No playful hands caressing and working him into a state while the cab driver watched in the rear view mirror. No excessive groping, no teeth nipping at his neck, and not once did Sherlock lean in close to whisper suggestive filthy words into his ear as he had become rather fond of doing lately when he wanted to work John into a befuddled mess.

When they had arrived at the restaurant and waited for the maître d' to check their reservation, there was no body pressing inappropriately up against him; no rubbing or grinding or long, skillful fingers working their way into his jeans. Nothing to cause him to blush in embarrassment as he tried to hide an obvious arousal. The reservation, made the day before, was yet another blaring sign of Sherlock acting out of the ordinary. When John questioned him as they waited, Sherlock practically glowed with self-admiration at knowing just when they would arrive not disguising in the least that he had planned all this ahead of time.

Their idle chatter had somehow worked its way to John's schooling at Bart's. Sherlock was prodding him now about what classes he had found most enjoyable while he stirred at his uneaten dinner with a spoon. That he had even ordered a meal was perplexing, he had pretty much ignored the plate of pasta as soon as it was placed in front of him.

John did another sweep of the room to determine if anyone there might be part of Sherlock's upcoming bet; though he was starting to doubt any involvement of someone else being that Sherlock had his back to the room and had not looked behind him once. But then again, Sherlock had specifically selected this table and that particular seat for himself, oh bloody hell he was driving himself crazy trying to figure this out.

He vaguely heard Sherlock asking him something about why he had chosen to go to Bart's but John wasn't really listening. Like a cat stalking prey, his attention snapped back from surveying the room to movement from Sherlock. The movement was just simply him unbuttoning his suit jacket and shifting in his chair but it had the added effect of drawing John's eye once again to the lovely sight in front of him. The sight made him nearly fall into his seat when they first got to their table and Sherlock had removed his coat.

Christ he shouldn't have not spoken up at the flat and instead let Sherlock walk out in his pajamas. The bastard had gotten back at him by changing into a specific outfit that he damn well knew made his legs go weak.

_The_ outfit. Dear god that combination of clothes, so shamelessly accentuating every tempting inch of that limber body. He was wearing his best slim black trousers that highlighted his magnificent arse perfectly. Adding in an almost translucently thin white dress shirt that was tailored to fit expertly snug against his sculpted chest. And topping it off with a suit jacket he rarely wore, saved for special occasions so John could never get too accustomed to it. Soft velvet, deep coal black that caused his thick curls to shine darker, his fair skin to appear ghostly unblemished; flawlessly tight, hugging all those sharp angular bones and emphasizing just the right curves. The combined outfit made him look stunningly handsome, add in the low light of the room making his alabaster skin remarkably radiant and he looked absolutely sublime.

Letting himself ignore Sherlock's endless questions he started wishing Sherlock had excessively groped him in the cab, and had felt Sherlock's warm breath against his ear as he told him all the naughty things he wanted to do to him, and felt that sensuous body pressing up close to him no matter how much it made him blush.

No longer hearing anything Sherlock said, he started to imagine sliding a hand up Sherlock's back, caught between the soft velvet and thin material of his shirt. Then gripping his other hand into those snug trousers and roughly pulling him close, pressing tight against Sherlock's body. His own jeans were getting a bit tight as he continued imaging undoing each button of his shirt while working his jacket off. John had to shift a little in his own seat as he started fantasizing about gliding his hands over that splendid arse.

Getting so lost in how he wanted to ravage him right then and there, he hadn't noticed Sherlock had stopped talking. It was only when he saw Sherlock's smug grin finally disappearing, replaced by a deliberately slow lick of his lips that John realized what he had done. All of his unexpected behavior combined with the perfect clothes, all of it planned out to get him worked up, to get him so wanting that without a single suggestive word, without one touch, without anything but simply unbuttoning his jacket, John fell apart.

All this time he had been trying to keep one step ahead of what he expected from Sherlock, trying to figure out what was coming and instead had worked himself right into getting hard.

But he wasn't done just yet, there was one more change to their game. Before John could regain any focus and before the tightness in his jeans had any time to calm down, Sherlock did the most unexpected move imaginable. He made it plainly clear that this was no longer about winning a bet but about the enjoyment of the game itself by making a bet that was terribly easy for himself to lose.

Leaning back into his chair, causing that already snug shirt to stretch tight against his skin, the buttons threatening to pop, Sherlock withdrew a hand from the table and moved it to his waist. With the table between them blocking the view Sherlock made sure, oh god damn him, he made sure John couldn't miss the unmistakable sound of him unzipping his trousers.

And as his hand moved down just a bit further, Sherlock let out a gratifying sigh and gave him the most wicked look John had even seen. "I bet you won't tell me to stop."

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**My apologizes for ending this on a tease, I decided to add even more smut to the next part so it's going to take a little longer to complete. And once again my many, many thanks to you for reading this and for the reviews, followers and favorites. There is still so much more I want to add to this story, I just hope I can keep it entertaining.**

**Also I beg forgiveness on any typos and parts that need small edits. I need to take a break from re-reading this again and again trying to catch them. It will be cleaned up later tonight if I missed more but wanted to get this posted before I have to go to work.**


	7. Chapter Seven

"I bet you won't stop me."

The meaning behind that quite simple sentence was not immediately apparent to John, which he thought was perfectly understandable really given that his brain took a small trip while he watched Sherlock slip a hand under the table, straight down into his unzipped trousers. Put that sight together with the pleasurable sigh he made when his hand came into contact with his cock and that they had not been magically transported to somewhere a lot less private than the packed restaurant they were currently still at; John's mind took a small trip aboard a high speed train with no brakes.

How could he possibly be able to understand the meaning behind those six single-syllable words when his thoughts were barreling along at dangerous speeds? A disjointed mess of thoughts with no signs of slowing,….

_There was no way...no... he wouldn't, he was not about to...fucking hell, Sherlock was not...he really wasn't going to start masturbating...here?...there was no bloody way…oh my god was he really going to wank one off in public...right now?...fucking hell…_

…John's brain was going off the rails.

Sherlock, being ever so considerate, helped John get past this unending loop and cleared up any doubts about his intentions by closing his eyes, leaning further back in his chair and with the movements of his arm plus another gratifying hum, making it absolutely clear that he damn well intended to have one off, right here, right now.

Swallowing hard, as his throat had quickly gone dry and almost choking in the process, John attempted to say Sherlock's name. All that came out was a mangled, "shh..kk.." followed by a rasping cough. Sherlock ceased his gentle ministrations, the only movement now being a playful chewing on his bottom lip. Not opening his eyes, he waited…waiting for John to piece his thoughts back together.

John stared and Sherlock waited, until that sentence finally made sense._ 'I bet you won't stop me'_

Oh Christ…All John had to do to win was tell him to stop. So simple and straightforward yet so calculated and deliberate. The beautiful bastard, sitting there across from him, wearing the outfit that begged 'bend me over the table and please fuck my gorgeous arse right now', with his trousers open and hand gripping his cock, with an blissful expression from the pleasure he was giving himself; fucking hell John could care less about winning or losing.

And there it was, Sherlock's new game. That's exactly what this was about, for John to see how far Sherlock would take it, for Sherlock to see how far John would let it go. A bet, not to win or lose but for the excitement of playing.

Sherlock hadn't moved except for teeth still chewing at his lip, just waiting, patiently waiting to see if John would play along. John licked at his own lip while trying to calm his racing heart. This was foolish, moronic, completely ridiculous, and could quite possibly get one or both of them arrested. But there was no getting past the fact that watching Sherlock masturbate for him surrounded by other people was also perversely arousing.

John glanced around the room to check if anyone had noticed his shameless partner submissively waiting, hand still unmoved from his trousers. Thankfully no one had because John really didn't think it would have mattered, there was no way he could _not_ let this go on, at least for a little while longer.

After one more difficult swallow, he answered Sherlock's 'not really a bet' bet with just as simple a sentence, speaking barely above a whisper. "go on…"

Taking his cue, Sherlock started slowly stroking himself again, not once opening his eyes. He slid further down the chair, that amazing arse reaching the edge and John leaned a little closer in his own, taking in the captivating vision before him.

And oh dear god was it captivating. His own erection had not gone down since Sherlock's initial distraction and watching him now, breathing noticeably faster while rubbing his cock, the tightness in John's jeans was getting more than uncomfortable and he unconsciously shifted in his seat a small fraction. In perfect response Sherlock moaned ever so quietly. Not so quietly, John moaned back.

Curse the sodding table between them. John yearned to see more than just the movements of his arm as he stroked himself. To see that lovely hand rubbing that even lovelier hard cock. It was a wicked tease, made all the more tempting by the slowly increasing rhythm of his movements and faint lustful keening he could just barely hear over the din of the sounds around them.

John took another hurried glance around the room; no one was looking…yet. The closest, an elderly couple, were pleasantly enjoying their meal two tables away. His earlier suspicion that Sherlock had specifically reserved this table, one furthest in the back corner, and making sure he was seating facing away, his back to the interior; was confirmed. Bless that genius scheming mind of his for at least planning far enough ahead so that he wasn't now panting and rubbing his cock smack dab in the middle of the place.

Sherlock was breathing faster and stroking with increased vigor, tugging faster at his cock and arched back even more pushing his lower body up into his hand. If anyone looked their way it would be terribly obvious that Sherlock was in the mists of something sordid and that John was practically salivating at his performance.

He was oddly not feeling any signs of embarrassment. His only thoughts going back and forth between his mouth-watering partner and wondering when their waiter was going to stop by their table….which apparently was very soon, as he was right now headed their way. "Christ, Sherlock…"

Again in submissive response, Sherlock slowed his movements, however this time not halting them completely, still gripping his erection he went right on fondling himself but at a more inconspicuous pace, noiselessly sighing at the feel of his own touch. Waiting yet again…but apparently enjoying himself too much to stop entirely, unless John specifically told him to.

John's heart was beating so fast it was pounding in his ears, eyes darting between Sherlock and the waiter weaving between tables, getting closer and closer. _Bloody hell, _their waiter was almost to their table and Sherlock kept right on. John was the verge of snapping 'Sherlock stop' when two nicely timed events occurred.

The first being, their waiter veering off to the table of the elderly couple instead of theirs, facing away from Sherlock and himself. The other, well it was a good thing the waiter hadn't come to check up on their meal, since that one was the main reason John's mouth snapped back closed. Sherlock, in all likelihood deciding John wasn't as of yet going to stop him, had continued right on with his more enthusiastic manipulations. He had also, almost imperceptibly low, moaned John's name.

His heart skipped a beat and his own erection throbbed in his jeans at the deep, throaty way his name peeled off those sweet lips. And it skipped another when Sherlock began stroking himself even faster and moaned a little louder. "John."

The waiter was entirely forgotten. Christ almighty, his stunning lover wasn't in any way putting on a show of it. With his eyes remaining closed, Sherlock was wholeheartedly going at it; masturbating to thoughts of him. Jerking himself faster, panting and keening louder, all the while fantasising about him.

Fucking hell, this was not a god damn bet, it was exquisite torture at its finest. John's cock was pressed so tight in his jeans the ache became almost painful. God how he wanted to reach down and stroke himself, even if only over his jeans but he was frozen in place, not wanting to make any movements that would attract attention or disturb Sherlock in his endeavor to get himself off.

An endeavor that was so fucking exciting to watch. His own breath was eagerly striving to match Sherlock's as he just kept right on, stroking his cock faster. His coal black velvet jacket had fallen open with his back arched in the chair. The delicate white dress shirt straining at the buttons across his chest. A few strands of his dark locks sticking to his forehead from light sheen of perspiration.

Almost forgetting where they were, hungrily taking in every movement, every sound of his ravishing Sherlock, John was swiftly reminded when the elderly gentlemen near them let it be known that Sherlock's masturbation had been noticed. Doing so with an unpleasant snort, a few not well thought out swears and an angrily waving arm trying to flag down an employee.

Fuck…fuck…He had to tell him stop, he really needed to….The gentleman was determined in his distressing need to call attention of a waiter or another staff to get Sherlock to cease. Once more John was at the brink, about to say the one word he most certainly didn't want to.

"Sher…." was all he got out because now instead of just moaning out his name Sherlock added two words that held the promise of making everything unexpected up to this point pale in comparison.

"John…it's okay."

_Dear god in heaven...was he...? _

Five more word followed, five unbelievably simple words. Five words that made the fork John didn't realize he had been gripping this entire time fall out of his hand and clang loudly onto his plate. Between his ragged breathe; Sherlock said the words that were etched deep in John's memory. "John...you don't have to."

John got lightheaded and so wickedly turned on he was tempted to push the table out of the way and do exactly what Sherlock was replaying in his mind. Everything else in the room faded. He didn't care if the manager of the restaurant came up and told them he was calling the police. He didn't give one damn if Lestrade himself showed up to arrest them. He didn't give one rat's arse if the building was on fire burning around them. There was no way in hell he was going to tell Sherlock to stop.

Sherlock wasn't just masturbating to thoughts of him, he was going at it while remembering the first time John had sucked his cock. A moment John would never forget, not just because it was the first time he had ever going down on another man but because of the very next thing Sherlock had said.

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**Oh my. I seemed to have done it again, ending with another tease. My apologizes :) And as always, thank you very much for reading. Thank you for the reviews, means so much to read those and to know you're enjoying this story so far.  
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	8. Chapter Eight

**Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews and follows and favs. I can't express how much I appreciate them.  
**

**And always...thank you for reading this and I hope it's enjoyable.  
**

**I swear I'm not trying to leave these with teasing endings and I swear this whole restaurant bit was not intended to be so drawn out but it will be finished in the next chapter. Then we can move on to some new bets, one that was graciously suggested by AltinMerrick, something to do with breakfast and a crawling on the floor Sherlock.**

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Sherlock looked shamefully perverted, what with the sweaty brow, those long legs and lanky body sprawled out in his seat, a hand down his trousers going at it as if he were a teenager locked in the bathroom after finding his dad's porn mags. But even with Sherlock in such a state, John was just about to win this insane bet by telling him to stop. All too soon a waiter or manager would be flagged down by the persistent gentleman two tables away and John didn't want to think about the trouble Sherlock, and quite possibly himself, might end up in.

That's when Sherlock, oblivious to the world or at least to all the things that John was not oblivious to, moaned the words that stopped John dead in his tracks. "John...it's okay."

Now those words could have held a whole number of meanings. Meaning such as _'John…_

_-it's okay if you tell me to stop. _

_-it's okay if you don't and I end up in jail for exposing myself in public._

_-it's okay if I embarrass the hell out of you enough that you want to hide under the table. _

Christ, it wouldn't have surprised John if those words meant '_hey why don't pull out your own cock and join me in this mad fun'._

But the breathless, moany way they were said, and with the words that quickly followed, John knew exactly what they meant and that changed everything.

Sweet lord almighty, when he heard that deep voice sob out that next sentence, John's mind tilted sideways.

"John…you don't have to."

The unhappy gentleman to their left. His dinner companion, who hadn't helped with hailing an employee being too preoccupied with mumbling, 'how utterly disgusting,' and apparently finding Sherlock's activities so utterly disgusting she couldn't take her eyes off him. The maître d' who was just now escorting a couple to the empty table between them and the elderly couple. All forgotten. None of that mattered, nothing else in all of creation mattered but Sherlock's wanton exhibition and the memory of those words.

It was the god damned sexiest and most lovingly way possible to have your partner jack off in front of you. To a memory of one of the first days of their new relationship, of their first shower together, of the first time in his life that John was about to put another man's cock in his mouth.

But more so because it was a perfect moment when Sherlock said something so simple yet it unintentionally spoke volumes. A moment in which John knew from that point on he would never feel hesitant about their relationship, never care about no longer being John 'I'm not gay' Watson. Words that made him want to do any and everything to him and with him, and words that struck so deep in his heart he knew he would never love anyone as much as he loved Sherlock Holmes.

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So their first shower…that in and of itself was hand down an entertaining experience. Or hands up and down and everywhere in between.

The hot water felt invigorating on his overworked muscles. Sherlock's dripping wet, warm skin rubbing up against his own felt electrifying. The steamy sight of Sherlock standing under the shower head, dripping wet from the hot water pouring down over him, made John feel ways he would never have imagined feeling for another man just a few weeks before, good ways, very very good ways.

Sherlock's deduction that the new lovers needed to take a shower together after almost twenty-four hours of barely leaving the bedroom was, as with all of his deductions, brilliant. Though with the amount of washing that was applied, reapplied and _'oh goodness I think I missed a spot'_ re-reapplied to the others body, one would think they had spent twenty-four days getting sweaty in bed instead of twenty-four hours.

John thought it was entirely reasonable from them to spend nearly a day in bed. Having survived the seven most confusing weeks of his life, Sherlock's hapless attempts at flirting, and his own laughably poor attempts at denial once he was able to pinpoint Sherlock's bizarre behavior as the worst go at flirting in the history of flirting, going at it like randy teenagers for almost twenty-four hours was inevitable. And there was no doubt after they finished excessively rewashing each other, they would be spending the next full day back in bed. Maybe longer thanks to Sherlock making it utter impossible for John to refuse his request of calling off work for the rest of the week. When a bare arse naked Sherlock scampers about the flat looking for your phone, and bounds back into bed like a playful child, holding out the mobile with the sweetest grin, saying 'Call now so you don't forget'; there isn't a snowballs change in hell of refusing.

But even without his plump arse running through the flat, John would never have been able to say no, considering how patient his new lover was. Sherlock, being more than reasonable and sky-rocketing straight up to unselfish restraint, made no complaints about spending those hours holding back while John got over the idea of rutting naked in bed with another man. John might have finally accepted that he was indeed in love with his flat mate, and unquestionably found him drop dead sexy but his mind hadn't yet given up the battle, wanting to over think about said rutting and just about everything else having to do with making out with his _male_ flat mate.

Denial might have lost out, but an entire lifetime of preference wasn't so easily forgotten. When the fire storm of raging desire that had built up the last few weeks was unleashed, it wasn't enough to prevent all that over thinking, so they went about working their way slowly to their much needed shower. Slowly only in progression because slowly certainly wouldn't be the word to use for how their mouths, hands and bodies collided together once they got all that troublesome confusion out of the way.

After the monumental moment when John stopped being a selfish twit and admitted his love for Sherlock, things got a bit heated, just a bit heated, a bit like the fire of a thousand suns heated. The clash of lips and tongues was frantic, fiery and ravenousness. Gradually, between a frenzied need for clothing to be removed, they worked their way through the flat to the kitchen, while hands and lips roamed every newly exposed piece of flesh. By the lengthy amount of time they reached Sherlock's bedroom, all items of clothing except pants had been clumsily removed, not wanting to break the connection between them even briefly to avoid tripping out of trousers.

It was when they ultimately worked their way to Sherlock's bed, grinding and writhing body to body with only a pair of cotton and silk boxer shorts separating them, that John's over thinking mind started doing that annoying over thinking thing again. So for many, many hours there was only affectionate cuddling, playful tickling, some much needed sleeping with limbs entangled together and an abundant amount of fondling, and in due course finally arriving at that aforementioned completely naked rutting**. **

While John stumbled along getting used to the idea that he was irrevocably romantically involved with his best friend and trying not to do all that over thinking about getting it on with him naked in bed, Sherlock's patience was deserving of an award. And one more progression forward in their sweaty activities proved Sherlock's skill with his mouth deserved a gold medal. It also provided a good reason for two sweaty and come covered men to need a shower.

So yeah…that shower.

John was on his fourth try at getting Sherlock sparkling clean. Soapy hands gliding across already thoroughly washed body parts; hand playing over limbs, chest, and parts that throbbed at the enjoyment of being cleaned, repeatedly cleaned in a very vigorous manner.

Sherlock, for his part, also showed signs of enjoyment from John's efforts to get him cleaner than he had ever been in his life. He back pressed against the wall, moaning beautiful moans while John's soapy hands stroked his cock…worked on getting him clean. Sherlock was gripping the shower curtain tight with one hand while the other cupped to the back of John's neck.

They were locked in another of those fiery kisses, tongues desperately wanting to make up for lost time. Those delightful moans coming from Sherlock were inflaming him much more than the hot water and John had one of the wonderful not over thinking moments.

John realized he had been severely lacking in his attempts to get Sherlock's legs and thighs completely washed a fourth time**. **Keeping his hand on Sherlock's cock, he slid down to kneel on the tub floor before him. There was an odd mix of sounds when John ran his other hand up Sherlock's leg to his inner thigh, another beautiful moan along with the sound of the rings scraping across metal as Sherlock's grip on the shower curtain tightened.

John looked up at the sounds and saw Sherlock's head tilted back against the wall, water raining down over him. It was a divine vision before him. Sherlock's hand, the one not threatening to pull the shower curtain off, was running down his chest across sinewy muscles and smooth pale skin, a pinkish hue from the heat of the water. His chest nearly hairless except for a faint trail of fine dark hairs under his belly button getting slightly thicker as they met with the hair around his groin. Sherlock continued sliding his hand down his slick chest until he reached a sharp hip, then he pressed his palm into the wall. Oh hell yes, he was unquestionably drop dead sexy.

John lightly kissed Sherlock's thigh and a small tremor coursed through the muscle. Kissing higher and higher, Sherlock was keening softly, his thigh trembling more. Traveling up and up, those keening sounds turn to pleasurable whimpers when John added small bites. His lips neared Sherlock's rigid cock, now direct before him. He had seen his share as a doctor but Sherlock's cock, as with every other part of his body, was perfect. Having spent the last of those few hours touching, stroking and feeling every bit of Sherlock's cock, John status as a doctor wasn't the only reason he felt qualified to make that statement.

Planting a few more delicate kisses closer, gripping his cock, Sherlock was making delightfully needy moans. Both his legs were twitching and shaking in anticipation. With all the patience and holding himself back Sherlock had done, and the amazing orgasm he gave John with his own mouth quite recently, John told his mind he was going return the favor right then and there.

Now it would have been nice if his mind was in complete agreement but no, it was still being a pain in the arse. John's lips were almost touching Sherlock's cock when his mind tried to force thoughts to the surface, thoughts such as…_'you're about to put a man cock in mouth, is this a step you're ready to take?…there's no going back from that.'_ John attempted to wrestle that thought to the ground, and gave it a shift kick while it was down but in the process he hesitated.

A minor indecision. An almost imperceptibly pause. A hesitation that Sherlock picked up on immediately. Shuddering under the hot water, his muscles taut and strained, the shower curtain dangerously close to being ripped right off its rings, his entire body yearned for John's lips. But that hesitation, that minor falter, caused Sherlock to gasp out, "John…it's okay."

John, his lips still a hair's breadth away from his cock, looked up into Sherlock's eyes. He was looking back down at him, his mouth working open and closed trying to form words around his ragged breathing and he spoke again…

…

"John…you don't have to."

The last sound to pull his attention away from Sherlock's lewd and erotic display of masturbation was the forgotten fork falling from John's hand to land loudly on his plate. After that, John heard and saw nothing but Sherlock reliving that moment.…

…

With every inch of his body crying out for John's lips to encircle his cock, Sherlock awareness of that hesitation supersede all his want and desire. Before John's over thinking mind could get back into the fight, before he could think at all, Sherlock stared back into his eyes and panted out one more sentence.

"John it's okay...you never have to."

John's battling mind lost the war entirely.

No more battles, no more doubts, worries or hesitations.

A simple sentence that said so much.

His wonderful Sherlock, who before their shower gave him the most amazing blow job he had every experienced, the best orgasm in his life, not pulling away when he came, swallowing his release, his perfect Sherlock was willing to go without any reciprocation. But John knew that sentence meant so much more. The quite often selfish Sherlock was willing to forgo whatever acts made John uncomfortable for the entirety of their relationship.

John also knew from then on, he would be willing to do anything for his Sherlock.

With no more faltering, no hesitation, not even a single teasing kiss, John slid his mouth down Sherlock's cock


	9. Chapter Nine

Raspberries.

Sherlock smelled like raspberries.

It was an odd thought to have when wrapping his lips around his new lover's cock for the first time but it was the first thought to pop into John's head.

Sherlock smelled like raspberries, raspberry body wash to be exact.

It wasn't a thought that lasted long, it certainly wasn't an important thought at the time but it was an odd thought which John would be reminded of many months later after a particular interesting dinner which would lead to an even more interesting breakfast.

But getting back to more important thoughts, such as that aforementioned cock and the lovely owner of said cock, who it would seem hadn't anticipated John's reaction to that simple yet deeply meaningful sentence.

At the feeling of John's lips enveloping him, Sherlock threw his head back, smacking it right against the shower wall and nearly tore the shower curtain off its rings. And having too many other important thoughts of his own, Sherlock didn't seem to notice nor care. Tightening his grip on the curtain and ignoring the pain, he cried out, "Oh my god...John."

...

Crying it out loud enough to draw the attention of the maître d', who was escorting that young couple to the table next to them, the couple themselves and quite a number of other guests.

The maître d' stared at Sherlock laid out in his chair stroking himself, for all of two second. He then swiveled on his feet and walked away without a word, leaving the couple to decide on their own if they wanted to take the empty table next to man who was very clearly masturbating and savoring every second of it. And also the man seated with him, who was savoring every second of Sherlock.

And savoring he was. John licked at his lips and slid a hand down to his own erection, rubbing himself over his jeans.

…

And at the sound of that needy moan, all thoughts of raspberries vanished, all thoughts of everything vanished except the need to make Sherlock make more of those wonderful sounds. Swirling his tongue around the head of Sherlock's cock did just that.

…

"Ah…god..oh..god"

Sherlock's body shuddering at the imagined feel of John's tongue, "Oh oh...John..."

The younger couple must have decided they were no longer hungry, turning around to follow the maître d' in his hasty retreat. And at this point John didn't give one shit if they'd decided to sit next to them and enjoy the show right along with the elderly woman who was still mumbling her disgust but had yet to look away.

Nothing short of the end of the world could stop them, so completely immersed in this wicked fun.

...

On his knees, kneeling before his partner, hot water still rained down on him, John ran his tongue over every inch of Sherlock's cock. Tasting, exploring, feeling all of him. As his tongue explored, he felt fingers lightly grip his wet hair. Sherlock's hips canted forward and he was keening more of those beautiful sounds from that beautiful mouth with each lick from John's tongue.

The keening sounds Sherlock made, the way his muscles quivered, the taste of him, even the smell of raspberry body wash from all that excessive cleaning, John was not only no longer hesitant about going down on another man, but was loving every moment of it. Sherlock's clear delight fueled John, now greedy, ravenous at the thought of hearing, feeling his lover come undone.

Another lick of his tongue and Sherlock's quivering legs quivered more.

…

Sherlock was stroking himself faster, his hips canting up more visibly. John gripped his erection harder, whining from wanting to taste him again right now, imagining running his tongue over him that first time, exploring, learning every part of him all over again.

…

Learning what made him moan louder, what made his legs tremble harder, finding what spots when touch by his tongue made Sherlock whimper in ecstasy, John was in his own heaven.

Circling his tongue back up to the head of his cock, John tasted precum. The taste…oh god...the taste, he needed, had to have more and slid his tongue over the slit of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock groaned and tossed his head back, striking the wall again.

…

"Oh god...please...do that again…John please."

Sherlock dropped his head back over the top of his chair, crying out so loud surely half the restaurant heard him. John's mouth watered remembering that taste.

Remembering that pleading voice, the desperate craving in it; it sent a shameless spark straight to his cock.

...

Oh fucking hell...Sherlock didn't have to ask, John wanted nothing more at that moment but to taste him again, but hearing his always wanting to be in control detective beg, god it was so wantonly erotic and so unrestrained, so wild, John knew he would be making Sherlock beg many many times in the future.

But not yet, not now, no, this was all about Sherlock, about those words 'you never have to', about giving his love everything he wanted.

John slid his tongue across the slit of his cock again and the fingers in his hair dug in sharper, inflaming John further.

…

"John, ahh god…"

Sherlock reached up with his other hand to grab hold of the table-cloth, digging his nails in.

John's already aching erection throbbed under his grip.

So fixated on Sherlock, John only vaguely heard someone trying to grab their attention. The voice so detached he didn't place it to the person standing not far behind Sherlock.

…

Again and again, licking, savoring the taste and savoring the whimpers of pleasure from Sherlock, John wanted to do this all night and day, but also wanted so much more, wanted to give Sherlock so much more. Still gripping the base of his erection, John slid him deep into his mouth.

...

Sherlock hollered out his name so loud the entire restaurant must have heard him.

That pesky, annoying voice trying to pull John's attention away from the amazing sight across the table from him, that bothersome voice, thankfully went quiet.

...

Working Sherlock further into his mouth, those strong legs were shaking so bad John reached his other hand around to Sherlock's arse to steady him. And taking him in fully, the fingers in his hair dug into his scalp with exquisite pain. John moaned around the length of him deep in his mouth and he heard the sound of the shower curtain finally tearing from the strain of Sherlock's grip.

….

Sherlock jerked himself faster, his moans reaching a fevered pitch. Flushed, eyes still closed, a layer of sweat coated his face, his thin shirt sticking to his skin from perspiration, that long willowy body splayed out so far into on the seat his arse must be right on the edge.

...

John worked his lover's erection in and out of his mouth faster, stroking the base of him. Over the sounds of Sherlock moaning and calling out, he heard the shower curtain tearing away completely.

No longer just gripping his erection, John rubbed himself over his jeans. The table-cloth strained under Sherlock's fingernails tearing into it.

When the curtain tore away, Sherlock other hand clasped at the back of his head, both hands now tangled in his wet hair, nails scratching, clawing into him. John mewled at the sweet pain and the feeling of Sherlock sliding in and out of his mouth.

"Oh god..John…John…" Sherlock arched back into the chair.

"John…oh god..gonna come."

His always thinking, thoughtful lover, gripped his hair and tried to pull away, to release himself from John's mouth before he came.

John wasn't having it, oh god no, he wanted, needed Sherlock completely, pulling his arse in tight, keeping Sherlock in his mouth as his orgasm rocked through him.

"Fuck..John..John.."

Sherlock came, releasing deep in John's mouth, releasing over his hand and shooting out over his delightfully tight shirt.

"Oh god Sherlock." John's cock ached painfully watching his lover come, not a care in the world where they were, not a thought of anything but John taking his orgasm completely.

John was dizzy from breathing so hard, Sherlock still moaning his name again and again, when the rest of the world came flooding back. The rest of the world being really rude, standing near their table claiming the police were on the way.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock was still thrown back, shuddering from his orgasm.

"Sherlock, we have to go. Now!"

His lovely partner tilted his head back down, one of those even lovelier grins showing.

John placed his napkin on his plate of cold mostly uneaten dinner, got out his wallet and threw down enough money to pay for their meal three times over. Grabbed his coat, John looked over to Sherlock who was just starting to composed himself, and gave him a look that said _'get your ass up right now!'_

Without waiting, John almost knocked over the angry, fluster manager in his rush to get out of there as quickly as possible.

* * *

They were fortunate to grab a cab before the police arrived, though it was a rather short cab ride. For some reason, the cabbie wasn't too thrilled with Sherlock undoing John's jeans and working a hand down them.

And Sherlock and John weren't too thrilled with being interrupted and thrown out of the cab, getting home was fast approaching emergency status.

The second cabbie didn't seem to mind the two of them pawing at each other like sex starved teenagers. By the time they pulled up to Baker Street, John's boxers were promptly on display, Sherlock nice tight thin shirt was completely unbuttoned, and the pair almost left a number of discarded clothing in the cab having other more important things on their mind.

Once inside the door, the discarded clothing was dropped and forgotten immediately, and they made quick work on discarding the rest.

Too quickly, causing John to trip up the stairs around jeans tangled about his ankles. Falling forward into Sherlock, who fell forward and down to the landing.

Getting up stairs was also forgotten at that point and not long after Sherlock was the one getting reprimanded by Mrs. Hudson for hollering like a banshee.

* * *

"Sherlock, next time you pull that crap could you at least let me eat half my dinner first?"

"Hmm?"

John was once again staring at the unappetizing contents of the fridge. In all that worrying about Sherlock's game during dinner, he'd only gotten in three or four bites of food. It was late, they both needed a shower, which wasn't a bad thing John mused, but he was still damn hungry.

"Going out to dinner was, you know, because I was hungry, not just for your amusement."

"Was it?"

He felt the temptation to call him a bastard but one look over at grinning fool, sitting at the table in just those wonderful silk pant and that god damn gorgeous velvet jacket to keep warm, and John could only smile. "Well letting me eat first would have been nice."

"Just heat something up."

"There's nothing good in the fridge."

"Yes there is."

John looked back at the measly contents of their fridge, "No just old Chinese takeout, and older Sheppard's pie, and your experiment."

"How about the risotto from Angelo's?"

"There isn't any…oh my god."

John snatched the box labeled Bio Hazard out of the fridge. Without opening it, he tossed it into the microwave and turned to see Sherlock snickering.

"Such a bastard."

"I know."

After heating up his late dinner, John got Sherlock to admit to all of his planning, picking up his favorite meal the day before, the reservations, how he knew just when they would arrive at the restaurant, and that the bloody twit had picked a place he knew they both didn't prefer, anticipating their permanent ban.

As usual, John ate while Sherlock watched him, just like at the restaurant. It was only Thursday, Sherlock rarely ate full meals, preferring to just pick at bits of snacks, until tomorrow. Tomorrow he would finally have his weekly breakfast. And a lunch and dinner on Sunday.

Only half listening to Sherlock, John started picturing how nice it would be to have breakfast in bed with him tomorrow, some jam on toast curled up in blankets around that warm, toasty bare body.

And right about then, that odd thought popped back into his head, the smell raspberries.

Raspberry body wash.

Raspberry jam on toast.

And that odd thought formed into an interesting new idea, an idea for an interesting breakfast.

Sherlock stopped talking about all that he had planned, letting John work out his own plan.

Once he worked it out, John just smiled at eagerly anticipating Sherlock.

Sherlock fidgeted in his seat, trying to contain his excitement. "So?"

"Time for a shower I think."

Sherlock grinned and got up. Heading to the bathroom, he couldn't quite hide the delight in his little dash to the shower. He knew, there was no doubt he knew John had come up with a new bet and he wasn't going to ruin it by figuring it out beforehand.

Before joining him, John cleaned up his mostly eaten meal. Then got one item out of the cupboard and placed in on the center of the table, along with a simple note. The note was to make sure Sherlock didn't wake up early and have breakfast without him but also to make it perfectly clear John could make a 'not really a bet' bet too.

Heading to join his once again sweaty and come covered lover in the shower, John left the jar of raspberry jam on the kitchen table with the note,

_'I bet you can't guess what's for breakfast.'_

* * *

**Gah..this was delayed, sorry. It was a lot harder to write than I thought it would be. I hope it reads okay.**

**And as always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. I tried not to make the end too much of a tease, the interesting breakfast was already mentioned in the note on the previous chapter. Thank you Atlin for the suggestion._  
_**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Thank you for the all the wonderful reviews.**

**And thank you to Atlin for the great prompt for this chapter, will be combining another suggestion of your with this one in the next chapter. Really appreciate the support.**

* * *

John didn't need an alarm clock to tell him it was time to get up for breakfast. Not when he had a Sherlock clock near the side of the bed not very quietly whining, "John, wake up."

Without opening his eyes he could tell it was too damn early in the morning, his internal clock was one clue but it was more the amount of whine in his whiny partner's voice told him Sherlock had probably woken up at the crack of dawn, found the note he'd left and had been fidgeting all over the flat for far too long waiting for John to wake up. It was actually a wonder Sherlock hadn't dragged him out of bed by his feet as soon as he read the note.

So the Sherlock clock…unlike his normal clock, this one didn't include a snooze button, there was no option for a few more minutes of quiet, he only got a few seconds. A few seconds of quiet that ended with a whiny sigh followed by, "John, I'm hungry. Wake up."

He couldn't decide which of the two he preferred; the Sherlock clock, even at its whiny best had a much more pleasant sound than the shrill beep of the mechanical one. However, not once since buying the little clock on his night table, had it ever attempted to not let him sleep-in by poking him in the face, which is exactly what his human clock was now doing.

The digital alarm was close to winning as that poking finger continued to poke away at his cheek and Sherlock nagged a little more, "Wake up."

John swatted at the persistent finger, "Stop it, I'm awake."

The finger stopped jabbing his cheek. "Then get up."

"Gimme a minute."

"Fine one minute."

One minute to an impatient Sherlock must feel like an eternity, it didn't take long for that finger to return and start tickling at his nose. In an attempted to hide from the cute but annoying finger and not start laughing, John pulled the blankets up over his head. "I said…gimme _a_ minute. As in _a_ whole minute."

That whiny voice was able to penetrate his bunker of blankets easily. "But John, I already waited an hour. I'm going to starve to death."

John didn't say anything, hiding under the duvet, just awaiting for the inevitable, and it didn't take very long for the inevitable to happen. Patiently waiting…until he felt that damn finger very slowly pressing against his face through the blanket, pressing harder and harder, until John finally started laughing. "You're such a dork."

"Just get up already."

"Okay, okay, you silly git."

Sherlock pulled the blanket off and when John finally opened his eyes he knew immediately which clock he preferred. The alarm clock might never poke at him relentlessly but it would also never look as good as Sherlock. Kneeling on the floor at the side of the bed, hair all mussed up, grinning like the silly git he was. There was no chilly flat to wake up to today; being nice and warm, Sherlock was wearing a silky robe over nothing but silky pants. The poor alarm clock never really stood a chance.

He propped up on an elbow, admiring his lovely partner. Sherlock leaned over, tipping forward on his knees and gave him a light kiss on the forehead. John reached to draw him down for more of those feathery kisses on some better places than his forehead but Sherlock pulled back, his silly grin slowly transforming.

It transformed into a little bit of fire, "John, I'm hungry."

"Couldn't wait for me to wake up huh?"

"After the many hours it took me to decipher the hidden message in your secret code of a note?" Sherlock licked his lips, "Be glad I let you sleep an extra hour since I found it."

"Fair point." And it was, it was impressive as well. Horny at the drop of a hat Sherlock rarely was able to contain himself when John dangled a carrot in front of him, or in this case raspberry jam.

That little bit fire was spreading from his smile to his eyes. "Now, time for breakfast."

Jokingly John teased, "Can I at least get up, take a shower, brush my teeth, make some coff..." Sherlock cut him off by plopping the jar of raspberry jam onto the bed in front of him.

"Nope. No more waiting. Jam, breakfast, now!" Oh yes his note had gotten Sherlock quite worked up.

Still on his knees next to the bed, John sat up to sit in front of him. He wouldn't make his somewhat, mostly not entirely patient Sherlock wait any longer, even with his incessant whining, poking and insistence, he was behaving rather calm all things considered. And knowing Sherlock, seeing the jam on the table, that 'not really a bet' bet tease, he had already considered all things and determined just how he would be enjoying his breakfast this morning.

Taking the jar from Sherlock, he started unscrewing the lid. As for Sherlock, he started to get up to join him in bed, but the sight of him kneeling looked too damn good. "Wait. Stay put."

Sherlock gave him a questioning look but stopped.

"Stay just like that."

"Oh..." Catching on quick, Sherlock sat back on his legs, those fiery eyes blazed at this. He looked so, hell so wantonly submissive kneeling in front of him.

Sherlock licked his lips when John unscrewed the lid and placed it on the night table. Jar between his thighs, he dipped a finger in, getting a bit of jam.

Sherlock keened in anticipation sending a thrill straight to John's groin. Damn he looked too good for words, eagerly waiting John to serve him breakfast in a most interesting way. Robe open, showing off a finely sculpted pale chest, his dark hair disheveled and uncombed, making quiet whimpers of excitement.

Holding out his now jam covered finger, Sherlock leaned forward, licking raspberries slowly off his finger, making a delightful 'mmm' at the taste. Sherlock licked again, trying to lap up any bits of jam he might have missed. John swallowed hard, his mouth watering at the sight of Sherlock on his knees licking at him. It sent more than a thrill to his groin as he grew hard.

Sherlock leaned closer, licking as his lips, wanting more.

John breathed out slow, "Oh god."

Taking a moment to just stare, he must have stared for more than just a moment. His greedy lover couldn't wait, taking John's hand, he dipped one of his fingers into the jar himself. Hungry eyes still fixed on his own, Sherlock guided the raspberry covered finger to his open, waiting mouth. Taking the whole finger in at once, his tongue swirled around licking off all the jam. When he started sucking hard on his finger, John's erection twitched.

"God Sherlock."

Sherlock hummed in response, and released his finger with a slight pop. A little too rushed to get his finger back in that warm wet mouth; John scooped up a bit too much and a little dropped onto the duvet.

And god damn, John's cock did more than twitch. Sherlock bent forward and he did, oh god damned yes he did, he licked the bits of fruit off the duvet, then grabbed John's hand bringing that berry covered digit back into his mouth, sucking off every morsel. Moaning, and licking and swirling his tongue over every inch.

"Bloody hell." John ran his tongue over his lips. The sucking on his finger, the lovely mostly bare Sherlock kneeling and keening in front of him, and definitely the smell of raspberries; breakfast was either not going to last long or raspberry preserves were going to be everywhere very fast.

Watching Sherlock while he nibbled on his finger, Sherlock's eyes brightened. Even in his inflamed state of mind, John knew that look, the look of a brilliant Sherlock getting one of those brilliant Sherlock ideas. Still gripping John's hand, he pulled his finger out again, not letting go, not letting John go for more.

Instead Sherlock dabbed his own finger in and reached over, lightly spread a tiny bit of jam over John's lips.

Tilting forward, coming close, John thought it would be a shared kiss, tasting the sweet fruit on each other's lips, oh how wrong he was. Just that delightful tongue licking slowly across his lip. John groaned as Sherlock traced his lips again and again and again with his tongue…until the jar between his legs started tipping over.

Sherlock quickly leaned back, catching the jar and preventing a big mess, a big wasteful mess. This was escalating much faster than how John had envisioned last night. That previous thought of sticky jelly everywhere was not far off.

"Sherlock, maybe we should…um…have breakfast in the kitchen?"

Right along with his thinking, Sherlock answered, "Mmm, we probably should."

He stood and took the jar from Sherlock and was just about to give him a hand to help him up but stopped cold. Looking down at the very submissive appearance of his partner, John lost his breath. The image of him leaning precariously over the bed lapping at the duvet filled his mind and it was John's turn to have a brilliant idea.

Before Sherlock could stand, he said, "Don't get up."

Sherlock gave him another of those questioning looks, "Hmm?"

John answered him with silence, a wide grin and scooped a little bit of jam onto his finger, holding it out in front of him. Sherlock leaned forward, tongue flicking out ready for more but John stepped back, moving his finger out of reach from his kneeling, submissive lover.

The fire in his eyes was hot enough to set the room ablaze, as he stared at John's retreating hand. Inching forward on his knees, he got closer and licked up his meal greedily, staring up at him while he sucked and sucked on his finger.

"Fucking hell, Sherlock you look so good like that."

When his wet finger was removed, Sherlock spoke and John's leg went weak at his simple word. "More."

"Oh god Sherlock."

With an unsteady hand he got another dab of jam but Sherlock didn't move. Just waiting, prostrate in from of him, submissive yet so in control. He didn't move, waiting for John to step further out of his reach.

And holy hell, god damn and everything else, John was pretty sure if he touched his cock right then he would have come. Because when he stepped back, Sherlock placed his hands on the ground and he bloody well crawled, crawling on hands and knees, his robe dragging on the ground at his sides, tongue bitten between teeth while moving forward to take in John's berry flavored finger.

"Oh my fucking god."

Crawling to him, right up to his feet, Sherlock sat back on his knees but this time didn't take his finger in. Grinning seductively, he took John's hand in his own and brought it to his lips and licked, and licked and just licked it clean.

Sherlock's robe had fallen off one shoulder, so much pale skin on display, pale and perfect expect for ruffled dark hair. John could barely think, blinking down at those smoldering gray-blue eyes staring up at him under thick lashed as his tongue lapped up all traces of raspberries from his finger.

"God…Sherlock, you are so fucking sexy."

Still licking, he just 'mmm'ed in response. And honestly it's a wonder John didn't pass out from his rapid, heavy breathing when Sherlock finished working that tongue over him, then ran it across his lips, staring up him with demanding eyes, demanding more.

Completely under his mesmerizing lover's control since his mind skipped out at the first sight of Sherlock crawling, John obeyed. Another bit of jam, another step back.

A perversely exciting feeling washed through him. Being dominated by Sherlock's want, by just demanding eyes, while at the same time the beautifully submissive creature walked forward on hands and knees, to prostrate himself at John's feet, hungrily devouring his breakfast. John's erection throbbed at the strange, interesting dynamic going between them. This was new, this was new and very exciting.

And again, a finger sucked cleaned, and again no words, just those fierce eyes speaking, commanding him, _'more, give me more now'_.

They moved back, step by step, backward toward to the kitchen. John spellbound watching step by step as Sherlock moved forward all on fours, groveling for each taste. Each step a finger, a bit of jam, a tongue licking or a mouth sucking. Each step back demanded of him by imploring eyes.

This was not in any way what he'd had in mind for an interesting breakfast when leaving that silly 'not really a bet' bet on a note next to a jar of raspberry jam last night.

And they hadn't even made it into the kitchen, and there was still half a jar of raspberry jam left.

This was so much more than interesting.

* * *

**Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this. Next chapter will include more jam (spread on more than just John's fingers), more crawling and a very messy kitchen!  
**


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